Bioshock Infinite: Continuum
by shizukopride
Summary: "Where one became many, many became one. And where one had died, one was spared. For both are equal parts of the coin and flipping is merely a contrivance." A look into the universe's dealings post-Infinite. Expect head-scratching and uncertainty. One does not reveal all the answers in the opening act of the play.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, beautiful people. This little story here is partly my headcanon, partly character study of my own. If you enjoy reading this first chapter, please review, follow, or fav the story so I know others are interested. Thanks!**

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Booker DeWitt jerked his head off his desk, his eyes trying to adjust to the darkness of the room. He let out a soft groan, moving his stiff neck to loosen the muscles. He had to stop falling asleep at his desk like this. Reaching for the bottle next to his head, he peered inside, hoping to see some contents swill around. Instead, he had an empty bottle. "Great." He set it back down, leaning back in his chair. His fingers ran over his face to calm him, stopping at his mouth in contemplation.

Even after nineteen years and a change of scenery in his daily dealings, the nightmares still plagued him. Distorted and disjointed, he couldn't make out much of what was happening or understand why certain things occurred in those dreams, but he did know one thing. Whatever he was dreaming felt far more real than any dream he had ever had before. He could feel the movement of the buildings as they floated in the sky, see the detail of the banners advertising the newest wares at a souvenir shop. Those parts in his dreams were pleasant enough, but it was usually what came after that turned them into a hellish experience. The familiar feel of a strange-looking weapon in his hands as he twisted a man's neck completely around or the way he took out a group of policemen with a bolt of lightning launching from his fingertips. It alarmed him since he couldn't figure out why he was dreaming such things in the first place. He had no control over what he did in the dreams; the events occurred the same way every time. Booker believed he had put most of his old ways behind him permanently; call it intuition, but he realized that his lifestyle back when he was nineteen was no place for a young girl. And so, he had adapted. He still struggled from time to time but he genuinely was trying his best to raise his daughter in the best way he knew how. It was for that very reason that the dreams wore Booker out, filling his gut with guilt.

_No, not dreams_ he thought bitterly, standing up and crossing the room to the fridge, pulling it open to grab another bottle of sorrow. He popped the lid and let the cool liquid slide down his throat to comfort him. Somewhere deep down inside himself, he realized that the dreams weren't just dreams. They were too real, too personal, and too raw for his mind to have created them out of nothing. It was like looking at a past he had experienced before but hadn't actually been a part of. His mind told him the dreams were just that but his heart persisted in its course to reveal some hidden truth. He sighed, gripping the bottle tighter, leaning on the fridge for support. Booker was glad his daughter wasn't a light sleeper nor a rule breaker; he didn't need her seeing him at his weakest moments, turning to a bottle to erase the nightmares. Despite all he gave to improve himself, he still couldn't be the father his daughter deserved.

"I see nothing has changed. He still rather enjoys his self-destructive tendencies."

"Although his sense of taste has gotten quite better."

"Only if you believe a few sparse pieces of furniture brighten a dank room, brother."

Startled, the bottle nearly slipped through his fingers. He knew those voices, had heard them a few times in his nightmarish dreams, always remarking on his circumstance or cryptically babbling about something related to science. He never expected those voices to leave his dreams, though. Turning around, he was met with the undeniable proof that the twins were standing by the front door, the woman poised and prim and the man with his hands hidden politely behind his back. "You…" He kept his voice low enough not to disturb his resting daughter down the hallway. She didn't need to be involved with whatever was happening to him at the moment. But, how had the pair slipped inside? He hadn't heard the door open, let alone heard them unlock it.

The female was the first to react to his simple statement, hands clasped in front of her stomach in her usual pose, a look of slight astonishment decorating her features. "It appears that he remembers us."

The male did not move even as he responded. "Although the possibility was quite low, I hadn't considered he'd recognize who we are."

"Or were," his twin supplied.

"Of course I know who the hell you are," Booker grated out in a tone barely below normal speaking range, pushing himself away from the appliance to face the pair, bottle still in hand. "I've seen you in my dreams before."

"Dreams-"

"- or reality?"

"You'll find perception is easily changed."

_He could see the backside of a young girl in a white top and blue skirt running ahead of him, a spring in her step and tied-back hair bobbing lightly. They were at the beach, people standing around and chatting with each other or lying on the sand to relax. The girl stopped as she approached a male and a female both dressed in similar colors and fashion on the boardwalk. Both were holding a decorative pillow with a beautiful box resting on top of it. A cameo was inside each. A flicker of unease and annoyance rose up in him._

"_Bird?"_

"_Or the cage?"_

"_Or perhaps the bird?"_

"_Nothing beats the cage." _

"_These two again," he murmured derisively to himself. "How do-"_

CRASH!

The bottle rested at his feet, splintered into a handful of sharp edges of glass. He took a step back unconsciously, his eyes staring down at the mess in confusion. "W-what was that? Who was…?" His voice rose to barely a whisper. He had seen that girl a handful of times, had seen this scene play out a few times. She, always full of mirth and always stopping to pick a cameo.

"I can't imagine what it is he saw," the female responded, her face perfectly set into an expression of mild curiosity.

"Although from his reaction, I can suspect that it was fairly uncomfortable for him," her twin amended.

"He is bleeding."

"From an overlap of memories present?"

"Hm."

Booker reached up to his nose, feeling liquid running from it. Bringing his fingers away, he glanced down. A dark substance stared back up at him. "I don't…"

"You do remember, whether those memories are locked up or not." At this, the female Lutece took a step forward. "I don't mean to be so forward with you, but the reason we came to you is not one of visitation."

"I-I don't understand." Booker stumbled over to his desk and chair, sitting down in the latter, his thoughts racing. The woman was implying something he had figured out a bit for himself but which still came to a surprise. "You're…"

"Lutece will suffice," the female replied.

"The reason we have come is that we have a favor to ask of you."

"_You_ have come to ask him a favor, brother."

The male Lutece grimaced but did not let his sister's words linger in the air. "Mr. DeWitt, the circle is yet unbroken. The debt you paid has been returned."

"Debt? What debt? I paid off all my debts. It was hell doing so but I did it. I made a better life for my daughter." Booker was on his feet again, anger sprawling across his face. It took most of his energy to keep himself from shouting the words. "You can't just come into my house and demand more payment." He motioned toward the door behind them. "Leave and don't_ ever_ come back."

"Oh dear. You've upset him now, brother. I doubt he will listen to more." The female's expression did not change.

"Please, Mr. DeWitt." The man stepped forward, holding his hands up in the sign of surrender. "The debt I speak of is not of monetary value. We have need of your assistance."

"My assistance?" Booker scoffed, gesturing to his room. "Look, pal, I don't know what you're after, but it sure as hell ain't here."

The male Lutece sighed, shaking his head minutely. "It seems being straightforward in talking with you was not the correct choice. I was hoping we need not choose the other option."

"He was always a thick-headed one."

"Hey, if you're going to insult m-" He paused. In just a blink of an eye, an image had come into view, blocking off a part of the wall. It was hazy and monochrome like an old-time film that had seen better days. "What the-" Booker walked the length of his desk, unable to tear his eyes away. "What the hell is that?"

The woman turned, her sharp eyes locking onto his own. "It is a tear, Mr. DeWitt. A tear you will look into to see for yourself why my brother requires your aid, although I can't imagine why he feels so strongly about it."

"And why would I do that? This is ridiculous." He couldn't explain away the phenomenon happening in his office, but he sure as hell wasn't going to walk up to a… tear thing he hadn't ever seen before. Something in his gut told him that while it seemed impossible, there was a perfectly rational explanation just waiting to be uncovered. That didn't mean he'd blindly follow whatever the pair before him had planned.

"You will see for yourself the truths you want answered," the male Lutece piped up. "After all, if the mind can manufacture memories, why can it not also suppress them?"

"A valid point, brother, even though it is a highly simplified explanation."

"Listen." Booker shook his head, stifling the urge to push the pair out the door without hesitation. "I don't quite understand what it is you are looking me to do, but there ain't a chance I'm going to just… step closer to that… tear. I don't even know wha-"

_He could see a young woman standing in front of a window, reaching over to pick up a rose. The edges of the window shimmered as though fluid and alive, and for a moment, he was sure they were standing in an elevator and not a room. The young woman half-turned toward him, her face not fully in view. "It's like a-a… window. A window to another world. Most of the time they're dull as dishwater: a different-colored towel or tea instead of coffee. But sometimes? Sometimes I see something amazing. And I pull it through." She plucked the rose from its spot, her head turning to—_

Booker tried to regain his balance, his vision attempting to correct itself. Again, another scene. Were these memories he couldn't remember but were still present somewhere in his mind? That's what the two familiar strangers were suggesting, as crazy as it sounded. He looked toward the tear, weighing his options. These nightmares, they had to be related to these visions he was suddenly getting. That girl, he knew her; he _swore _he knew her, the way her hair rested against her back, the warm dulcet tones in her voice…

"Mr. DeWitt, time is of the essence."

Hissing through his teeth, he rubbed a hand down his face once again. "If I look through this… this tear, will I finally understand what you're talking about and what, exactly, these visions and nightmares mean?"

"All in good time," the man responded, gesturing politely toward the tear. "Now, if I may suggest…" He trailed off, giving a soft smile.

Sighing, he shook his head. If he got himself killed because he listened to these two, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself, let alone ask for forgiveness from Anna. It was a blessing she hadn't heard all the commotion and come running. He would not involve her in any of this. "If I do this, can you guarantee my daughter remains safe no matter what?"

"No harm shall befall her."

A scoff. "Alright." And with that, Booker walked up to the portal. A blinding white light blurred reality, and for a moment the detective was afraid something was wrong. A bubbling feeling of light-headedness overtook him, and he attempted to correct it by stepping sideways. It seemed to help, albeit slightly. The seconds trickled by before his vision cleared and he could see clearly what lay behind the portal's mouth.

He was looking down an alleyway, rain pelting the ground. Ahead, he could make out the male twin standing next to the brick wall with a portal that oddly seemed like the one he was looking through, the female standing on the other side. She was saying something but he couldn't quite make it out. Glancing to his side, he could still see the twins standing in his office. He opened his mouth to declare an answer to the many questions buzzing around his mind, but the male merely shook his head and pointed toward the tear again. Gritting his teeth, Booker looked again, his eyes locking onto an older-looking man who was holding a baby girl. The baby looked extremely familiar. "No… this… I…"

He watched as a different him ran forward, grabbing the man by the arm in an attempt to wrestle Anna out of his grip. Shouts of "Give me back my daughter!" echoed down the alleyway. The struggle continued even as the other man crossed over to the other side of the portal, but where he could only hear the female Lutece before shouting, someone else's voice joined the struggle.

"You're hurting her! She's not your child."

That voice. It was the voice of the young girl, the one he had seen racing down the boardwalk and the one who had plucked the rose as she explained what a tear was to him. He moved toward the other side of the tear in his office, attempting to get a better view of the other side of the portal inside. There. Her hair was cut shorter and she was wearing a blue dress. Her eyes were jaded and haunted as though she had endured great travesties in such a short span of time, but it was still her. She was…

… Elizabeth.

"I remember…" he breathed, overcome with emotion. Elizabeth, his grown-up daughter who was raised in a different universe by a different version of him who reigned over a city in the sky called Columbia. Comstock. But… this was wrong. Elizabeth had ensured that all Comstocks were wiped out of existence. She had smothered him in his crib, before he could decide to accept the baptism. His head felt like it was on fire, thousands of different images and thoughts flooding into his mind. He grunted, holding his head with one hand as he tried to continue to pay attention to the scene before him.

"Shut it down. Shut down the machine!" Comstock barked out, still in a tug of war over the baby. It was a struggle Booker had a hard time watching but knew he had to. The Luteces had opened this tear for him _here _to watch _this_ universe for a specific reason, and he would make sure he knew damn well why.

Elizabeth was in a state of panic, he could tell. While she didn't reach out to grab Comstock and force him to let go of the baby, her eyes rang out with a wide range of emotions from righteous fury to a look of fear. He didn't remember her here though. She hadn't been there. Why was she here?

"Oh, no, no, look out!"

Booker knew the portal was closing, could tell things were not going to be okay. This was different, foreign, a universe he didn't remember. He held his breath as he watched the portal closing, but it wasn't Anna's pinky finger that was being chopped off. He shut his eyes, overwhelmed by the scene, choking back a cry. The next moment he opened his eyes, he was sitting on the floor of his office, the two Luteces looking down at him with a mixture of pity and sorrow, the tear gone.

"It seems that got your message across in a rather stinging fashion."

"But he still doesn't know the full story."

"One must be properly educated before one can understand the entirety of a story and the part one plays in it."

"Stop." The word was weak and flimsy, but it was all Booker could afford to say. It was like losing his daughter all over again, the pain and regret of nearly twenty years crashing into him. He had sold his daughter in many realities, had sold her to a version of himself he loathed with every fiber of his being. The nightmares that awoke him night after night were memories of _other _Bookers fighting to retrieve Elizabeth and prevent a world-wide conflict. It all made sense now.

"Mr. DeWitt, we came here to ask for your assistance. While revealing all the facts can be helpful in most situations, understandably we must limit the knowledge we pass to you."

"One cannot undertake a mission with all the aces in hand."

Booker had to stop himself from finding an object to throw at them. They were as insufferable as ever, talking over his head like he wasn't even there. "Why did you show me that? What was the purpose of it?" He could feel anger beginning to run through his veins, tinged with a pain he wanted to keep buried. Why was he forced to remember everything? No person should be forced through such extremes. He hadn't sold his Anna, hadn't doomed her to a painful existence.

The Luteces shared a look before the female spoke first. "It is my brother's understanding that you were the result of a paradox righted by the universe. It has taken quite a while to find you."

"And why were you trying to find me?"

"The girl's actions have caused an… imbalance," the male hesitantly responded. It sounded to Booker like they were treading ice here, worried about giving too much away to him. "You could say it has created a rather unorthodox paradox. In attempting to break the circle with two different methods, one method has created a new set of realities that do little for her cause."

"You aren't answering my questions. What you just showed me-" Lifting himself back onto his feet, he loosened his shoulders. A glance toward the door behind him showed that Anna was still sleeping soundly in her room. "—brings up more questions than it answers."

"The purpose of showing was to ensure you could remember what you had previously done, or will do."

"The DeWitt you saw lost his daughter completely. With your previous history, one can assume he will not suffer silently. It creates a variable wherein there are two choices presented to him: he can either decide to end the torment or choose to change it. Change, as you are already familiar with, can lead to an unfavorable outcome."

"Comstock," Booker murmured, arriving at the same conclusion. "But Elizabeth wiped out all the Comstocks."

"You are correct-"

"—but entirely wrong."

"She had created a constant out of a variable, preventing any Comstock from Comstock universes existing. What she did not do was prevent any DeWitts from existing. All it takes is a loss of family to spark the beginnings of a madman."

"Wait." Booker leaned back against his desk, folding his arms across his chest as he tried to sift through the information. "If Elizabeth prevented any Comstock from existing, then how could that reality even exist? And what does that still have to do with me?" All this talk of multiple realities was making his head hurt, but he knew he needed to understand it, for the sake of his daughter, both as Elizabeth and Anna. He wondered briefly what had become of Elizabeth. Did she still live, or had she been transported back in time as he had? Did his daughter remember any of what happened? He prayed she didn't.

"Time is an ocean, not a river, as most conceive. What happened in that alley happened before, during, and after her other action. However, it appears that the universe doesn't quite know what to make of itself and has allowed both actions to remain. The Comstock you saw fled into a different reality, becoming a part of that reality instead of his original one, thereby escaping."

"Leaving the DeWitt of that universe to live with his regret and hate," added Robert. "Comstock's actions resulted in that world being spared, but it did not get spared out of kindness. In desperation, he searched for a way to hunt down the man who killed his daughter. I'm sure you can fill in some of the blanks."

"If his mind hasn't reached his optimal potential," Rosalind slyly commented.

"Wait, wait," Booker interjected, holding up a hand to stop the Luteces' banter. "Are you telling me that a Comstock is running free as well as another me who is acting just like Comstock? You've got to be kidding."

"We tell nothing but the truth." Rosalind could not hide the abrupt flame in her eyes. "Lies are told by lesser men, Mr. DeWitt."

"It does seem rather difficult to understand, but I assure you, we have our good intentions. What we merely need you to do is to return to the point of time before the girl takes action and stop her from potentially undoing all her hard work in a single stroke of irrationality."

"Really?" Booker scoffed. "And how do I do that?"

"By entering." Another tear appeared behind them, this one a brighter and more focused pallet of colors showing one lighthouse in front with other lighthouses that stretched for miles beyond the mouth of the tear. "We do advise you do not tarry there. Our actions could have vast consequences should the slightest calculation go wrong."

Sighing, Booker nodded. "I don't know why I'm agreeing to do this, but if it means righting whatever wrong is happening and keeping my daughter safe, I'll do it." He closed his eyes to take a deep breath. "How will I know when to…" Opening his eyes, he saw the Luteces had disappeared. "Every damn time." His eyes moved to focus on the tear. "Okay, Booker. You've gone through these things before without major problems. There's no harm in doing it one more time." Steeling himself, he decided running into it was a better option than walking into it. "You can do this."

Booker launched into a quick dash, watching the portal's environment expand as he entered the other reality. A small blossom of panic suddenly flared to life, causing him to turn his head in apprehension. As the world started to turn into splotches of white as his mind tried to adapt to the new enviornment, he swore he saw a flash of brown hair follow after him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you kindly for the review, favs, and follows I received for chapter 1! Here's chapter 2, and I will forewarn you: If you become even more confused as to what is happening, you are perfectly well. Hints are teased out but the mystery only deepens. Enjoy!**

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The first thought to cross Booker's mind was the question of why he was lying face-down on the ground. It was soon followed by the fact that he had no idea where he even was. Groaning as the world started to come back into focus, he lifted himself up enough to get a view of his surroundings. In front of him was what appeared to be a garden full of greenery and people robed in white muttering to themselves as though praying out loud. "Huh." Booker stood up, checking himself over to ensure he hadn't sustained any injuries from his sudden collapse. As his mind tried to connect the dots and answer his questions, he started walking toward one of the individuals. Perhaps he could glean some information that would point him in the right direction.

"Uh, excuse me? Where am I?"

The man sharply raised his bowed head, turning to regard Booker with a flicker of surprise, or was it alarm? He certainly didn't seem all too eager to answer his question, but the seconds that slid by turned to prove that initial assumption about the man false. "Heaven, my friend." He smiled warmly at the detective. _We ain't buddies yet _Booker thought derisively. "Or as close as we'll see 'til Judgment Day."

The detective had several replies waiting on his lips but decided that the reward for sharing his thoughts was lesser than the consequence of being revealed to be more of a stranger than he already was. Instead he walked away, shaking his head ever so slightly. As he neared the edge of the garden, he noticed for the first time that the ground was moving – not like an earthquake, but the faintest of moving up-and-down type of sensation. _What the hell…_

He pushed the white double doors in front of him open to reveal a sight he couldn't quite understand. He was standing on one of many areas with buildings that were floating in the sky. "A floating city in the sky…" he murmured, something clicking in the back of his mind. He was here on a mission. 'Bring the girl and wipe away the debt.' It made sense. He had come here to save a girl named Elizabeth and take her to New York in order to wipe clean his slate. _Can't believe I forgot something as important as that. Who knows how much time I've lost by lying around. _He waited for the garden to connect with the next platform before moving ahead. The sooner he got the girl and left the city, the better off everything would be. He couldn't quite put his finger on why he felt the urgency to finish the job quickly, but he understood that this city was already a place he wasn't fit to be in.

It didn't take him long to enter the fairgrounds for the 1912 Columbia Raffle and Fair, although he was a bit perplexed as to the telegram he had received before entering. He had read it aloud to himself, wondering if there had been some special meaning to it. "'DeWitt STOP. Do not alert Comstock to your presence STOP. Whatever you do, do not pick #77 STOP. Lutece.' What the…?" He shook his head and pocketed the telegram. Perhaps he'd find his answer at the raffle, should he decide to go. The other sights and activities were interesting enough, although they hardly detracted him from his main purpose in the city. He had to admit, though: the shooting games proved themselves to be worth a go. And the vigors? Whatever the hell those were, they seemed to display unique abilities that'd be great in a pinch. _Not that I'm hoping to fight anyone. Seems to me that these folks haven't seen fights since they'd been here, and I aim to keep it that way. All I need is to find the girl and leave. _

After a short walk he stumbled upon a girl giving free samples of a vigor called Possession. Whatever it was, it was free, and he wasn't complaining. If it'd help him navigate the city, all the better. "Gimme one of those." The girl handed him the bottle. Opening and taking a swig from it, Booker watched as his vision swam, the vendor turning into a ghostly green apparition, whispering about people being all ears. It cleared up soon enough but left Booker wondering if perhaps drinking the vigors wasn't the best idea. It didn't matter now, he supposed.

The ticket-taker automaton nearby guarded the path he needed to take. A quick use of the new vigor seemed to provide him a way through. However, it wasn't smooth sailing for him yet. On the other side stood a couple, one wearing a chalkboard with tally marks for heads and the other holding a rather expensive-looking plate.

"Heads?" asked the man.

"Or tails?" asked the female.

"Come on, let me through. I don't have time for this."

The first response he got was the man flipping him a coin. Catching it in his hand, he looked down at it before looking back at the pair.

"Heads?"

"Or tails?"

"Uh… heads, I guess." The coin flipped in the air before landing on the plate, heads face-up.

"Told you," the male responded as the woman scoffed lightly with an 'hmm' and marked another tally under heads. Booker honestly didn't see the point to any of it but kept his mouth shut. "I never find that as satisfying as I'd imagined."

The woman tilted the man's chin upward as the pair started to walk off to the side. "Chin up." The detective decided it'd be better to leave the pair alone and continue onward; if he was going to run into strange people, he'd better bypass them as quickly as was allowable.

After the fairgrounds, Booker continued to make his way toward Monument Island where the girl was being kept. It seemed odd they'd lock her up to protect her from this False Shepherd as evidenced by several signs. 'The False Shepherd seeks only to lead our Lamb astray.' Were these people really scared of one man? He noted the signage everywhere, proclaiming the Lamb as special and needing of protection. He snorted as he passed them. Crazies existed everywhere you went, even in a floating city in the sky.

It was made apparent to Booker that he'd have to cross into the raffle square itself to get closer to the angel statue on Monument Island once he hit a roadblock guarded by a few policemen; didn't these people understand the purpose of streets being open to the public? The singing of the crowd in the raffle square did little to sway his opinion either. As he stepped into the crowd with hope that he could exit through the gate opposite him, he was met with a roadblock when a rather insistent woman holding a bucket of baseballs with numbers written on them called out to him to come closer. Sighing and wishing things would actually go his way for once, he stepped closer. "Wouldn't you like a ball?" the girl asked, smiling.

"Sorry, no sale."

"Silly, there's never a charge for the raffle. You been sleeping under a rock?" She held the bucket a little higher, an indication that she would not be leaving him alone until he picked a damn ball.

Reaching in, he pulled out one marked with the number 77. Booker turned his hand to show the number to the girl, hoping it'd get her off his back. He didn't even want to participate in this raffle, not to mention the telegram that expressly warned him not to pick that number. He had the worst luck, it seemed.

The girl remained unperturbed by Booker's inner musings. "Seventy-seven? That's a lucky number. I'll be rooting for you." She gave him a wink before sauntering off.

The man that had been standing on the stage took that moment to address the crowd, filled with mirth Booker hoped wasn't going to follow him throughout the city. "Bring me the bowl!" he proclaimed, gesturing off to the side of the stage. "Is that not the prettiest young white girl in all of Columbia?" He laughed at his own comment before dipping his hand into the bowl to draw the winning number. Booker prayed he'd be free to leave this area after the number was called. It would be a cruel trick of fate if his number was pulled, telegram or not… "All right then! The winning number is… seventy-seven." Shit.

"Over here! Over here! He's the winner!" That girl needed a lesson on learning not to rat out people in a crowd. Now everyone's eyes were on him, including the man's on stage.

"Number seventy-seven, come and claim your prize! First throw!" The man proclaimed, motioning to the curtains as the crowd chanted 'first throw' like it was scripted. The curtains were pulled back to show a white man and a black woman tied separately with rope, an assortment of caricatures surrounding them while the man and crowd began taunting the pair with a horrible rendition of the typical marriage song. It was enough to make Booker's blood boil. It didn't matter who was up there; all of this was a sick joke. Like hell he was going to throw a baseball at a couple being jeered at. Gripping the baseball tighter, he ignored the man's taunting, jaded words as he aimed his throw at him. Before he could launch it from his hand, an arm grabbed his own roughly. It didn't take Booker more than a second to realize it was a policeman. Things were turning out rather peachy.

"What are you thinking, son, trying to throw at Mr. Fink?" The policeman growled out, checking the back of his hand for a moment before fixing his stare on him. _Right, the False Shepherd nonsense._

"Looks like some members of our flock are serpents!" declared Mr. Fink, eyeing Booker cautiously from his spot on the stage. "And we ain't lettin' no serpents into _our _flock, now are we? We know how to handle back-stabbing serpents like you, oh ho, indeed we do. Show him what we got planned, boys!"

Booker turned his head, watching as another policeman moved in closer, holding a bladed weapon that was inching closer to his face. There was no time to think, only room to act. Tossing the baseball up in his restrained arm, he freed himself to send one of the men's faces into the weapon, watching it dig into the skin like slicing cake. It was gruesome but it wasn't anything Booker hadn't seen before in his life, and he couldn't think about these travesties. Not here, not now. It was kill or be killed. He went for the skyhook, pulling it free and turning on the others, eliminating them as quickly and efficiently as possible. He didn't enjoy it, but when it was about survival, it was all about drawing first instead of not drawing at all.

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A new vigor and several battles with policemen later, Booker found himself entering a restaurant called 'The Blue Ribbon.' A cursory sweep of the interior showed him no threats, only a man passed out drunk and the couple who had forced him to flip a coin earlier. The only thought he could care to give them was one of distrust.

"We have company," the male spoke aloud, scrubbing down the bar countertop as though it was the most natural thing in the world to do, let alone ignore the fact that all of Columbia was currently searching for the detective.

"We do indeed," replied the female, appearing from the kitchen doorway with a tray and a yellow-glowing liquid in a bottle.

The whole scene made Booker feel uncomfortable, in the defensive way. "Why are you following me?"

"We were already here," supplied the female in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Why are _you _following _us_?"

"I-" Booker began when the female abruptly cut him off.

"Aperitif?"

"You'll find that happy in a pinch," the male added.

"The difference between life and death."

Booker crossed the room to approach the woman, looking at the drink with a mixture of disdain and apprehension. Were they suggesting that this concoction could help protect him in the fighting that was sure to follow him around the city? _Well, it beats getting shot at._ The detective downed the liquid, feeling a burning sensation fall down his throat. As quickly as it came it disappeared, leaving no trace. "What was that?"

"Hmm. Surprising," remarked the woman.

"Surprising that it worked?" questioned the man.

"Surprising that it didn't kill him."

"But a magnetic-propulsive field around one's body can come in handy."

"If it doesn't kill you," retorted the woman.

"A fair point," acquiesced the man.

_These people are crazy._ Once the woman had moved away from the only exit in the place, Booker left, not taking a second glance behind him, his mind focused on getting to the girl.

Rosalind watched the detective disappear through the other door in the kitchen before letting loose a quiet sigh. "This one is quite different from the others."

Her twin, Robert, stopped his cleaning. "Well, he is the result of paradoxical corrections. One can never be sure the result."

"So you tell me, brother." She crossed over and set the platter on the countertop. "You ensured that your thought experiment was important, and while I can agree to that, I cannot agree to our meddling in the man's affairs yet again."

"We must ensure the events are the same even if the man is not. It is no different than before, dear sister. We simply repeat the experiment one last time."

"In order to protect the best outcome we had achieved previously," Rosalind added, glancing toward the windows looking out onto the city. "But it will not end the same, you do realize."

Robert's carefully neutral face faltered a sliver. "You do not have to remind me. All we can do is lead and hope the rest will follow."

"Hope is not scientific, yet I must agree. There is little else to be done." She straightened herself up and turned to her twin. "Shall we then?"

"But of course."

In the blink of an eye, the twins disappeared.

* * *

Booker wasn't sure he'd ever get the hang of using the sky-lines to move from point A to point B, but at least it provided him with a means to getting to Monument Island, so he wasn't complaining, although the police seemed keen to prevent him from getting there regardless of how many the man had disposed of earlier. He was preparing himself for a large fight with a group of policemen standing ready to fire at him from a building he was passing when a booming voice commanded, "Stand down!" The detective was amazed they so readily abandoned any thoughts on him and instead turned to kneel toward the open doors. Apparently everyone in the city was crazy.

Landing on the ground and absorbing the shock of the impact (it hurt like hell every time), Booker wandered through the men, his hand still on the trigger of his pistol should any one of them go for their weapons. He managed to make it inside the building without incident just to be confronted with the image of the Prophet. _So that's why_ he mused, snorting as he moved forward to pull the lever for the elevator. It was then that the image decided to start speaking.

"I know why you've come, False Shepherd. I see every sin that blackens your soul. Wounded Knee. The Pinkertons. The drinking and the gambling. And, of course, Anna. And now, to repay a debt, you've come for my lamb. But not all debts can be repaid, Booker."

The detective had to stop himself from laughing. Him, the False Shepherd? According to their propaganda he should have the initials 'AD' carved into the backside of his right hand. All he could see was the smooth skin staring back at him…

_He was walking down a street, hearing the laughter of people as they hurried to the raffle. For a city in the sky, Columbia was sure a bustling place. As he turned the corner, he could hear a policeman excitedly telling his comrade about a new weapon called a skyhook that they could use to rid themselves of the Vox, whoever they were. It was what was behind them down the road that gave him pause. A large sign declared, 'You shall know the False Shepherd by his mark!' Raising his right hand and spreading his fingers out, he looked from his hand to the sign. 'AD' was carved into the back of his hand, the same as the poster. "What the…?"_

Booker wiped beneath his nose, pulling his fingers back to see blood. "… the hell…?" he murmured, shocked. Where did that vision even come from? He didn't have any mark on his hand, a quick glance at his hand told him as much. Regardless, he couldn't let this so-called Prophet get the upper hand on him. "You don't know me, pal!" he shouted, hoping his tone carried what his thoughts could not. _Pull yourself together, Booker. This ain't no time to be going crazy._

"Prophecy is my business, Mr. DeWitt, as blood is yours. Do you know why these men will die for me? Because I have seen the future in their glory, and hence they are content. What brought you to Columbia, Booker? 'Bring us the girl and wipe away the debt'? This will end in blood, DeWitt. But then again, it always does with you, doesn't it? It always ends in blood."

The elevator was making a monumental task for itself; how long did it take the damn thing to reach the second level? Booker was more eager than ever to find the girl and leave this all behind him. He wasn't sure how or why Comstock knew about his past but he wasn't about to let the man see his backside. There were more than enough regrets littering his past to remind Booker nothing came out of dwelling on it. "I ain't taking shit from you."

There was a moment's silence, and Booker thought he had put an end to the conversation. It was only when he could finally step out of the elevator that Comstock spoke again.

"You've come to lead my lamb astray, but thy crook is bent and thy path is twisted. Go back to the Sodom from which you came! Go back!" An explosion rocked the pathway, throwing Booker against the wall. Well, it certainly looked like the man wasn't going to make the rest of the trip to Monument Island easy. Looking through the hole created, he could make out a zeppelin preparing to leave. Catching a free ride didn't seem to be a bad idea, and it could give him some much needed cover. Booker took a running leap, letting his skyhook latch onto one of the metal hooks adorning the wings. It took little work to get rid of the couple of soldiers shooting at him, despite how uncomfortable it was to be hanging in mid-air with one arm desperately ensuring he wouldn't fall to his death. The control room wasn't but a step away from there, and all he saw inside was one white-robed woman praying to a picture of the Prophet in a shrine. She paid him no attention and he likewise did the same. "Okay, I'm sure I can get this thing going." He started fiddling with the controls, trying to figure out what each part did when a rather loud alarm sounded outside. Looking up, he saw Comstock standing on a gunboat, looking straight back at him. Well, damn. Maybe he could just shoot the Prophet now and be rid of…

"The Lord forgives everything," declared Comstock, spreading his arms wide. "But I'm just a prophet… so I don't have to. Amen."

Something in his gut told him things were going south fairly quick.

"Amen," concluded the woman behind him. Booker turned just in time to see her light herself on fire, the flames spreading out to engulf the rest of the zeppelin.

"Shit! Gotta get the hell outta here!" He ran for the door, watching the cargo bay doors open. Taking a deep breath, he hoped he'd land on the sky-line below and jumped. It was a mere second later that he felt the ripple of pain up his arm that told him the skyhook had magnetized itself to the sky-line. "That was close. I don't think I'll be getting on one of those for a while."

He let the sky-line carry him forward until he could leap off onto the steps below. A look in front of him told him he'd finally made it to Monument Island. "About time." Glancing around, he was relieved to find no ambush in waiting. It didn't mean he'd let his guard down. Pulling out his pistol, he started walking forward. "Now for the girl."


	3. Chapter 3

**Unfortunately, the next two weeks will be a hiatus; I will be out of the country and unable to access internet for that length. I appreciate more reviews so I know who's reading and who enjoys the story. Thanks!**

* * *

None of this felt right to Booker as he began to make his way through Monument Island's statue. It wasn't so much the lack of other people (of which he was quite grateful for; he had had enough of fighting for the day) as it was the sense that he had just walked into someone's expensive science lab. The girl he was supposed to bring to New York was some sort of lab rat? What the hell were these people thinking, if they were even thinking at all? He walked farther inside, paying only mild interest into the equipment he passed. A few gave him pause, such as a restraining chair with several medical tools laid out on a table next to it. "What the hell were they doin' to her? They think she some sort of freak?" He shook his head, his resolve to break her out of the tower intensifying. Certainly no young girl should be locked up for most of her whole life simply to be a specimen for an experiment. It wouldn't fly in New York, anyway.

Continuing his ascent via elevator, he finally found a panel in a small, closed-off area with several places listed. _Must be a way to track her whereabouts._ A glowing button was next to the word 'Library.' Well, that simplified his searching. All he had to do now was find a way to reach her there. As he passed through several security doors, he found more tiny rooms with windows that looked in on the other places the girl could be present in during the day. She probably didn't even know she was being watched. It disgusted him enough to be sure that what he was doing was okay. Saving her from a life of being watched and experimented on sounded better than just leaving her here. Plus, he had the job to think about.

As he turned another corner toward another security door, he expected to find another empty corridor of metal. To his surprise, he found the earlier twins standing there, blocking his path. "How the hell did you get here?" In an instant, Booker's pistol was in hand, tip pointed straight at the pair of them. He had left them in that restaurant a while ago, and there was no other way for them to get here except follow after him.

"One should not shoot one's allies..."

"…especially when he is in need of help."

"I don't need no help. I've got this covered."

The twins exchanged a look with each other, their mouths flattening into lines. "He cannot remember his past in this world, brother."

"Nor does he remember his past in his own."

"A blank slate with an order."

"Hey, hey, hey. Don't talk like I ain't even here." It didn't appear they'd attack him, but it didn't mean he'd leave himself wide open. He kept his finger on the trigger but let the hand holding the pistol drop down to his side.

The detective's words did little to hinder the others' conversation. "But the girl remembers more."

"She is still the key to the whole event."

"One should tread lightly…"

"… for the end must remain the same."

The lights flickered off, startling Booker a bit. The walkway was engulfed in darkness for a few seconds, and as the lights turned back on, the pair was nowhere in sight.

"They follow me here just to give me cryptic advice." He snorted. Dwelling on the information they presented to him would only give him a headache. There was no understanding to it; what was 'the end' that must remain the same? And what did they mean by the girl being the key? There were too many questions and not enough answers. He'd just continue with his job and ignore what just happened. It was the soundest advice he could give himself.

Opening the door they had blocked previously rewarded Booker a very nice, very high view of part of Columbia that he couldn't quite appreciate. The wind howled and whipped against him viciously, and he struggled to slip through the opened door before it could shut on him. "Holy shit," he remarked as he glanced down. "Alright, I can do this." He kept himself as close to the statue as he could, cautiously treading his way up to the other door. The developers of this place must have been suicidal, because he sure as hell couldn't think of anyone who'd willingly try to walk this stretch without a death wish, although what that said for him personally was left to the imagination.

It felt like several long minutes later before he reached the next door, slipping inside as fast as his quickly-numbing hands could allow him. He rubbed them together to get the warmth to return before he proceeded onward. He hoped the girl hadn't moved locations on him, because he _really _didn't want to go back out in that wind storm. The inside path led him around to a circular fixture being held by four rusty-looking chains with the door he needed to enter residing on the other side. It almost had disaster written across the situation, but Booker wasn't a man to fear a shaky, possibly death-creating fall, right? The detective steeled himself before walking across the middle of the fixture. He was half-way across when a rather loud snap echoed. Turning his head, he saw one of the chains broken. Well shit.

The fixture's other chain snapped, causing Booker to fall straight down into the library. Quick reflexes had him grabbing the nearest bookcase, slowing his fall enough that a landing on the floor afterward only brought about a bit of a jolt. "That hurt," he murmured to himself before the sound of footsteps brought his gaze up from the ground. "Uh… hello."

Elizabeth stared at him with a mixture of emotions, none of them good. It was understandable; if a man fell through your ceiling, you'd be surprised and perhaps afraid a little too. What he hadn't expected her reaction to be were the first words out of her mouth.

"Why are we back _here_?" Anger laced through her voice, her eyes narrowing. She was holding a thick book in her left hand. The size told him everything he needed to know about it. It could very well be the weapon she used against him if he screwed this up. Even if he didn't know what she was going on about, at the very least he could tell her part of the truth of why _he_ was there.

"Listen. My name is DeWitt. I've come to get you out of here."

"Didn't you already?" Her eyes searched his, trying to find an answer to her question.

Booker could only give her back a severely confused look. "I'm sorry?"

Elizabeth huffed, her fingers tightening around the spine of the book. She stared intensely at his face for a few seconds more before turning and walking a few steps away. Silence expanded across the room for a full minute before she spoke again. She glanced down at the book in her hand, sighing. "… I guess I messed up, huh? So now we're starting over again."

Booker picked himself up, resisting the urge to shake his head a little. There had been nothing in the job description telling him he'd be rescuing a deranged girl, but a job was a job, regardless of inconveniences. "Look, miss, I don't understand what you're going on about, but I think it'd be best for both of us to leave this place."

"Yes, I think that would be best, Booker." She turned her head, trying to push a smile across her lips. Elizabeth took a step toward the exit when Booker held up a hand.

"Wait. How do you know my first name?" There was an edge of distrust in his voice. He hadn't told anybody his first name since he had arrived in Columbia, so how did she know?

Elizabeth froze for a moment, her arms pulling up toward her chest, her back still to him. Then, in a voice slightly wavering, she replied, "It was… a lucky guess." She paused, unmoving for a moment. "I… would like a moment, if I may… Mr. DeWitt. I won't be long."

The detective sighed, rubbing the back of his head absent-mindedly. "Fine. I'll give you a couple minutes." He watched her turn and walk past him toward another door that more than likely led into one of the other rooms he had passed in the numerous observation rooms. This job was becoming exponentially more difficult than he had first assumed. Booker found a spot against one of the bookcases to lean against, waiting for the girl to show herself again. There was a sense of dread building up inside of him, a fear that something was going to happen soon, and more times than not, he was proven right. Well, it'd been a few minutes anyway.

"Uh, miss? We need to get go—" The statue he had ignored up until now across from him began to sound loudly, playing an extremely loud tune. Once it stopped, he heard an answering shriek echo from somewhere outside the library. "Dammit, whatever that's for, it ain't good." He turned toward the windows facing out into a blue, cloudless sky, eyes searching for a clue to whatever was ready to attack.

Behind him, he heard a gasp and then footsteps running toward him. "Booker! We need to leave now!" Her eyes were wild and fearful, her hand grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the locked steel door in the corner. She whipped her head around to face him. "We need the key!"

Key. He had almost forgotten about it. Fishing into his pocket, he pulled out the ornately carved instrument, one side with a picture of a cage, the other a picture of a flying bird. The girl snatched it from his hand without a word and put it into the keyhole. "What was that noise?" he questioned. The situation he didn't quite understand at first was dangerously sloping down into a chaotic mess.

"Songbird!" Elizabeth shouted over her shoulder, pushing the door open and making a run for it. Booker pushed himself through the closing door, giving chase.

"What the hell do you mean?" The girl was leading him around the other observation rooms, as if she had done this before. Strange, but he wouldn't dwell on it if it meant a more expedite exit.

"He's my captor, tasked with keeping me in this tower. If he catches us, you are _dead_."

The detective snorted. He wasn't that easy to kill, although if it came to it, he didn't want to have to fight something with a name like the 'Songbird.' Sounded like a thing he didn't want to mess with anyway. Once he noticed them closing in on the elevator he had used to reach this place, he told Elizabeth to press the button to call the damn thing. He stopped to take a moment's breath, looking over at her. She was standing close to the opposite wall of the elevator, eyes trained on it expectantly. Was she locked up so long that she didn't understand what an elevator did? "It won't bi-"

There was a shriek before the doors to the elevator cleaved apart, a giant robotic avian pushing its way through the space. It attempted to reach forward with its claws before the bottom of the elevator smashed into its head, pushing it down and out of sight. Booker stared for a moment, wondering what the hell that creature was. Obviously it was who Elizabeth called the 'Songbird' but he hadn't expected something quite like _that_.

"We need to hurry!"

"I know." Leading her forward, he ran for the steps, climbing them as fast as his legs would allow him, pulling out his pistol in case the bird attempted to attack again. After several flights, they were faced with another of the steel doors. A twist of the handle and a push from Booker yielded it, and the pair exited to continue running for the top of the angel statue. There was a thought that perhaps they shouldn't have run to higher ground, especially against something that looked like it could fly, but he pushed it out of the forefront of his mind. It was only when they reached the plateau that Booker attempted to find the guardian. It was at that moment Elizabeth reached over and encircled her arms around his right one. He gave her a questioning look, ready to ask what she was trying to do when he felt the statue give way. Suddenly he was slipping downward, and then it was open sky.

Quick thinking helped him snag a sky-line with his skyhook, but with the girl still gripping his arm harshly, he had no means to defend them against their enemy. Instead he had to pray the sky-line would grant them a chance of escape even as he heard the angry shrieks of Songbird chasing after them. Booker could see part of the angel statue toppling away but he was more preoccupied with the fact that the said broken piece was destroying part of the bridge the sky-line was grounded to. "Shit, hold on!" he shouted as the ride came to a sudden end and they began to free-fall once more. He felt Elizabeth's arms slip from around his own before he landed back-first into the water, darkness overcoming him.

* * *

"_Where one became many, many became one."_

"_And where one had died, one was spared."_

"_For both are equal parts of the coin…"_

"_and flipping is merely a contrivance."_

"-ooker! Booker, wake up!"

Coughing, the man opened his eyes to be met with blue sky and blue eyes. Elizabeth hovered over him, worry carved into her face. "Are you okay?" she asked, putting a little distance between them by sitting back.

Booker coughed again, slowly pulling himself into a sitting position. He turned his head carefully to survey their surroundings. It appeared they had landed on some sort of beach resort, the sand beneath him and the water in front of him prime indicators. Now if only his body didn't feel like it had been hit by a train from the fall into the water. "I'm… fine. Don't worry about me."

The girl almost gave a 'hmph' before nodding. "At any rate, we need to find you something to ease your pain a bit."

"I said I'm fine."

"Mr. DeWitt," she scolded.

"I appreciate your concern, miss, but I _will_ be fine." He waved her away as he attempted to pull himself into a standing position. His legs were shaky and he could feel a burn in his muscles, but he wouldn't give Elizabeth the satisfaction of being proven right. He could take care of himself, he's always taken care of himself before.

The girl rolled her eyes as she too stood up. "I do have a name, you know. Just call me Elizabeth." There was a small crack of pain that he could see in her face as she said it before she realized and settled into a more neutral expression. "We should get moving." She motioned toward the other end of the beach.

A skeptical look passed over Booker's face. "You seem to know your way around here. I thought you couldn't leave your prison of a tower?"

"I… read about it in a book before," Elizabeth off-handedly responded, already making her way off the beach. The detective followed closely behind, trying to figure out what he was missing. Something didn't feel right to him at all, like he wasn't noticing something incredibly important that he should recognize.

Elizabeth continued to walk past a sign that Booker had to stop to look at. It was advertising the First Lady Airship at the Aerodome. It could be their ticket off of Columbia. "Hey, Elizabeth," he called, "we can use this airship."

The younger woman stopped but didn't turn around. "… No. He will stop us." Her words barely rose above a whisper. He wanted to question her on it but he needed the right time to do so. Perhaps asking her when she sounded more open after some time before they approached the Aerodome. The girl seemed to be flipping between two extremes, distant and caring. Time would only tell.

They continued through a store full of merchandise and souvenirs, another beach with more people relaxing, and another building before finding themselves on a boardwalk with small booths filled with jewelry for sale. It was a rather conspicuous couple standing in the middle of the path that drew both Elizabeth's and Booker's attentions. Elizabeth hurriedly ran closer, the detective not far behind walking steadily.

"You two again. Why do you keep following me?" he sighed.

"As we have stated before…"

"… _you _are following _us_."

"Where one chooses to go…"

"… the other can't be far behind."

Elizabeth crossed her arms, her index finger tapping against her other arm. Her neutral expression changed into a more annoyed look. "Why are we going through this again?" Her voice held a bitter note.

The twins exchanged a glance, seemingly unaffected by the questions hurled their way.

"The universe does not like itself called a liar," the female cryptically hinted.

"Nor does it like two where there should be one," added the male Lutece.

Elizabeth's arms slowly dropped to her side as the meaning became clearer to her, her face drawn into deep contemplation. "So you mean…?"

"The means to the end are given as a choice."

"The end itself a variable turned constant."

The younger girl's face clouded over with the implications, distress creeping into her eyes. She glanced back at Booker who looked as confused as he actually was. It was cruel, she filled with memories she didn't want. "I can't," she responded breathlessly, afraid to even utter the words. "I can't," she repeated.

The Luteces gave her faces showing brief hints of pity, Robert showing more than Rosalind. He shook his head a little as Rosalind decided to reply. "One cannot change the constants on a whim. It would be declaring the universe a liar."

"The method, however, is the variable. One must simply choose how to reach the end."

Elizabeth's shoulders started to shake uncontrollably, and Booker could tell without seeing her face that she was attempting to control her sobs. He had had enough standing silent as they mercilessly berated the poor girl, as if being locked in a tower for most of her life wasn't bad enough already. "Hey, leave her alone. That's enough," he grounded out.

The twins merely looked over at him with blank looks. "Mr. DeWitt, the error of the universe was caused on your part," Robert commented.

"Our miscalculation caused the other."

The detective didn't know what to think. The error of the universe caused by him? He didn't understand any of what they were saying and said as much to them.

"One must remember one's mistakes…"

"… if one were to rectify them."

The Luteces gazed at Elizabeth for a moment before Robert pulled something out of his pocket. He presented it to Booker, who begrudgingly took it. It was a small cameo with a picture of a birdcage. When the detective glanced back up, a question on his lips, he had noticed that the pair had both turned and simply walked away. Booker wanted to give chase, to shake them to demand answers, but knew he couldn't leave Elizabeth the way she was now. He was lucky the boardwalk was mostly deserted save for the few vendors, or they'd become the center of a whole lot of unwanted attention.

"Hey," he quietly said, reaching out a hand to touch her shoulder before stopping short, unsure of what to do. "Elizabeth." No response. He sighed softly, running a hand through the hair on the backside of his head. "Whatever they said, forget it. This is just you, me, and finding a way off this city."

It took a minute for the young girl to stop her sobbing, hands frantically wiping at her face to erase the stain of her tears. She half-turned to face Booker, searching his face for an answer she desperately wanted. Her face fell when she came up empty. "… Booker?" she questioned.

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember any of it?"

The detective wasn't sure how to respond, especially after what just happened. A negative answer was sure to bring the girl more pain, but he didn't feel right lying to her more than he had to. He hadn't told her he was taking her to New York, and piling more lies on top the pile wasn't what he wanted to do. There would be regret there, and he had more than a lifetime of that behind his back, in a past he wanted to erase. It was in this moment that he decided to hand over the cameo; she took it quietly and fixed it upon her choker. The silence continued, and Elizabeth's face changed, set into a more stern face.

"You don't, do you?" A sigh as light as the breeze left her lips, her eyesight traveling toward the ground. She looked fragile. "I just wish…" Another sigh and a turned back. Her gaze picked up, looking ahead. "I can change this. I _will_ change this." She began walking again, her head held higher than Booker could ever remember it being since he met her. "I won't make the same mistakes again."

Booker followed closely behind her, wondering what inspired the change of mood while searching for an answer himself. A lot still didn't make sense to him, but as long as they were moving forward and he could complete his job, he wouldn't complain. There was only a tiny part of his brain that questioned her statement while quietly saying, _I wish I could say the same_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry to say, but with recent events happening in life, my story will be published bi-weekly instead of every week. Hope you'll forgive me, but never fear, for I have not given up on the story in the least! So, please enjoy!**

* * *

It was a strained silence that nestled itself in between the pair. She, hardly speaking a word while maintaining distance from him and he, still confused and troubled over recent events. It had been four times already that he had come across the twins, and every time they were as cryptic as they were mysterious. If their main business wasn't to annoy him, he wasn't sure what else they did with their time. They seemed to put a great emphasis on the universe and correcting whatever wrongs that had happened. The idea was, to him, ludicrous to even think about. His main worry was getting Elizabeth to the airship so he could get her to New York. Everything else between here and there were stepping stones toward that goal.

Booker didn't like the silence, although it didn't distress him either. The only reason he was even worried was the chance to build rapport with the girl. If he could do that, she'd more willingly follow him, and there'd be a possibility of fewer problems occurring. Besides that, he didn't want to worry about protecting her should a fight happen. He could never be too sure. The alerts that had filled the city over the False Shepherd had died down, a fact the detective was happy to know, but all it would take was a single person raising an uproar over spotting him before the city would bear down upon him again.

It wasn't long before he decided they needed to understand each other a little better, if to make sure she wasn't going to run off on him. "Hey, Elizabeth," he called. Her crossed arms tightened a little across her chest in response. "I think we need to talk."

"… Okay." She turned, her features softening a little. Perhaps he was wrong in assuming she was being distant from him on purpose. Expectation waited in her eyes.

"Explain to me what you meant back there when you said he would stop us. You're talking about that giant bird, right?" Elizabeth gave a small nod, her lips pursing at the thought of her guardian, or rather, her warden. "Look, we need that airship whether you realize it or not. We ain't leaving this city on foot, you know."

"I understand that, Booker." Elizabeth let her arms fall to her sides. "But every time we use that airship, he will come, and he will stop you."

"How do you know that? We haven't even tried."

"I've seen it." She began to fiddle with the thimble on her pinky finger. "It's hard, knowing what might happen but being powerless to stop it." Her eyes carved a path toward where they had come from, the broken angel statue hidden from her view by the buildings. Booker saw her adopt a thoughtful expression and wondered what she meant. He didn't need a third messenger delivering cryptic clues. He'd gotten his share already.

"What is it?"

"… The Siphon. In this world, it's still here, meaning my powers are severely limited."

"Uh… powers?" Maybe he hit his head on a rock somewhere in the water a while ago.

Elizabeth sighed, facing the man once more. "I can open tears. They're like windows into other worlds. Sometimes I can pull through helpful items, but other times, I can find something more. In my current state, I can only open tears that already exist." The response was a raised eyebrow and a face saying he didn't believe her. Her eyes cast around for a fluctuation in the air, a tell-tale sign of a tear. She started walking back toward the end of the boardwalk and the building that rested beyond it. It didn't need to be anything special, as long as it did the trick with no one spotting them. There. In the corner, hidden from sight of any errant passersby or the store owner. "Booker, here." She waved him over to her location, pointing at the tear once he was standing next to her.

"What am I looking at?"

"I told you – it's a tear."

"You mean the thing that's… uh, a ripple in the air?"

"Yes. Now watch and I'll show you what I mean." She concentrated all her thoughts on opening the tear, moving her arms as though pulling open an object. There was a small flash of light, and where before there was nothing, there now rested an empty, rust-covered barrel. A whistle of air hissed through her teeth in disappointment as she shook her head before gazing at Booker. "It's just an example, but this is my power."

Booker was staring at what he thought was an illusion. His hand reached out, touching the top of the barrel lightly, afraid his fingers would glide through it; instead, they hit cold metal. "Holy shit," he remarked, walking around the object with admiration. "So, these are tears, huh? Impressive. If I ever need the help, it'd be nice to have a back-up plan."

Elizabeth's lips cracked into a smile, the light reaching her eyes for a moment. It was as though she could see something there in Booker that she hadn't seen before and wanted to see. "Now that that's out of the way for explanations, I have a plan."

"A plan? Where is this coming from?"

She pointed over his shoulder in the approximate direction of where she knew Monument Island rested. "We need to destroy the rest of the angel statue. There's a Siphon there that's restraining my powers. If you want to beat Songbird and escape from here, you're going to have to trust me, Booker."

The man couldn't help but let loose a chuckle. "I come all the way to this city to rescue you, and now you're the one offering to help me?"

Elizabeth huffed, a little bristled by his reaction but let it slide. "Just trust me, okay? We need the First Lady airship if we're going to destroy the Siphon."

Booker raised his arms in a half-shrug. "What do I have to lose? As long as you agree to stick with me and not get in the way of any fights, I can't see a reason to disagree."

"Then let's get going, shall we?" There was more of an upbeat in her step, the older man noticed as she began to head back out onto the boardwalk. Well, for not knowing exactly how to navigate the issue of having her agree to head to the airship, he'd done a pretty fine job. Now it was just a matter of getting there without drawing unnecessary attention.

* * *

Booker would swear that the deity most people looked up to for guidance was trying to make his life all the more harder for him than it needed to be. A bullet whistled past the crate he was using for cover followed by a handful more in quick succession. He checked how many clips he had left for the weapon he had scrounged off the nearest dead Columbian soldier. He swore to himself. His pistol was empty and here he was sitting with two clips of ammo left. Not the worst pinch he had ever been in but certainly rivaling it. There were at least five more soldiers out in front of him, blocking him from advancing closer to his target, the First Lady Aerodome.

He turned toward Elizabeth who was hiding behind a nearby crate to call out to her. "Can you find anything to help me?"

"I'm trying, but I haven't found anything yet!"

"Just great," Booker muttered, waiting for a momentarily lull before popping out from his cover to aim at a few of the closer soldiers. One of his bullets found its home in a man's arm while another exited his chest. The man's weapon hit the ground, the man following quickly behind it. The detective aimed at another, firing two rounds to take him down. He heard two shots fired when a warm surge crawled across his skin, forcing Booker to duck again. Despite his distrust over the man and woman who popped up randomly to throw sophisticated language over his head, he had to thank them for providing him with the whatever-it-was-called shield. He could have very well been a dead man already without it.

"Booker!"

He turned his head toward the girl again, his face asking the question echoing in his mind.

"Catch!"

Doing so, Booker smirked. "Thanks!" It was another gun, fully loaded. He wouldn't ask where she had pulled it from, but nonetheless, it was sorely needed. Launching to his feet again, this time he ran forward to become a moving target even as he fired at the three remaining soldiers, two ahead of him and one to the side. Thinking fast, Booker threw his left hand out toward the single soldier, focusing on summoning flames. A burning sensation boiled in his veins before launching forward, a flaming ball of fire landing on the man's leg. A scream erupted, abruptly cutting off as the man's life left him in a blazing inferno.

The detective made quick work of the other two, letting out a heavy breath as he surveyed his surroundings. Out of the multitude of enemies that had swarmed him, he had to take a moment to admire the fact he was still alive. He didn't relish the killing, but if it was between their lives and his, he would gladly pull the trigger to protect himself. It was a fact of life, whether he wanted to accept it whole-heartedly or not.

Elizabeth ran toward him, avoiding stepping near any of the bodies or puddles of blood. Once she had reached him, she pointed forward. "Look." Booker complied, seeing the path clear to the gondola port that would take them to the First Lady Aerodome.

"Alright. Let's go." The sooner they left the area, the better it would be; he didn't want to wait around for back-up to arrive nor did he want to waste any time searching the men for that very reason. Elizabeth seemed eager to put distance between them and the body-littered area as well. He would wait until he found one of the various vending machines that decorated the city to fill up his reserves. Booker still had enough salts to use a vigor or two and he still had enough ammo to handle light resistance.

The walk to the gondola port was silent, both hustling a little faster than normal. It was only as they approached the port that Booker stowed his weapon. Glancing around, he found the lever that would call it down toward them. In front of the lever was a glass-enclosed ball of weirdly-colored crystals humming with potential. "Huh. Guess Columbia uses its own form of energy."

"It's Shock Jockey," Elizabeth supplied, walking toward the sign next to it. "They don't want to be tied to a power company. This whole city is about being its own country, including the smaller things like electricity."

"Whatever makes them happy with their lives." Booker pulled the lever, waiting for the gondola to start its descent toward them. What he received instead was a loud crackle followed by the destruction of the purple crystals inside the glass case. "Dammit. Now how are we going to get there? Where in the hell are we going to find more?"

Elizabeth scrutinized the glass container, 'hmming' to herself as she shifted her position a few times, attempting to see it from several angles. It was apparent she hadn't listened to a word he had just said.

"What are you doing?"

The girl tilted her head in response, one hand perched upon her chin in contemplation. "I think… there's a tear here."

"A tear?"

Elizabeth took a deep breath, bringing her hands forward. She closed her eyes, focusing her whole body on the motion of pulling something invisible open. With a grunt, she moved her arms upward, a flash of light and crackle of noise following. The glass dome was filled once again with Shock Jockey.

Booker glanced between it and Elizabeth, a slightly perplexed look on his face. "How did you do that?"

Elizabeth shrugged, letting loose a sharp, breathy sigh. "I-I'm not sure. I just… did." She let her gaze drop down to her hands. "I… Maybe I have more power than I thought."

"Whatever the reason, I'm just glad we don't have to trek backward to get moving forward." He turned his attention to the moving gondola, focused on just reaching the airship.

Elizabeth, however, continued to stare at her hands, questions filling her mind. It was not doubts of her power, but the fact she had done something she couldn't have done the last time she was here, before everything changed. The mere fact she could remember _all_ of what happened was enough proof to her that perhaps she could change their fates. She could not do the deed a second time. The first time it had devastated her; if she had to do it again, it'd destroy her.

"Hey." Elizabeth noticeably jumped, spooked by the sudden intrusion in the silence. Booker nodded his head toward the now stationary gondola. "You coming or what?" She quickly hopped aboard, Booker following her into the tiny control room. He pulled the lever, sending the gondola forward back to the Aerodome, his gaze settled straight ahead.

"Aren't you going to ask me?"

Booker turned his head, caught slightly off-guard by her sudden question. "What?"

Elizabeth sighed softly. "Aren't you going to ask me about my powers?"

It didn't look like she was going to drop the subject, the way she fixated her gaze on his quite seriously. Well, it wouldn't hurt to humor her. "Fine. How do you have the ability to open those tears?"

"... I was hoping you'd know that already." Her tone had shifted slightly, a sorrowful edge to it. She sounded a little older as well.

The older man shook his head. "Now you've lost me. How would I know how you got your ability…"

_He was overcome by an immense feeling of regret, loss, and guilt. The feelings ate away at him, emptying him of all that made him a man. The bottles that littered his desk could not erase the lasting image that had seared itself into his mind's eye. Every waking moment, he could see it. His nights were tormented with dreams of that brick wall, a tiny sliver of a pinky finger falling to the ground, his hands reaching out for the person who was no longer there. The cold surface of the wall and the chilling rain had done little to drown him in the cold that had taken root in his heart. The one thing that had mattered to him most – and he had lost her._

"Are you okay?"

Booker's vision cleared, and he realized he had at some point fallen to the floor with a coppery taste in his mouth. A swipe at the bottom of his nose told him it was blood. "Shit, not this again." He pushed himself up, waving off Elizabeth who attempted to help him. "I'm fine."

Elizabeth's response wasn't to his rather blatant lie. "You saw something, didn't you? Something like a memory that you don't remember having." She was sounding older again with a wisdom hidden in her voice, like she had aged several years in the span of a minute.

"Does it matter?" Booker shrugged off her question, wanting to put as much distance between whatever the hell he had felt and saw and what was occurring now. He felt the lurch of the gondola as it made port. Without a word, he made his way off to survey their surroundings.

Elizabeth held back a little, a haunted look in her eyes. She crossed her arms lightly over her chest, looking at Booker's back as he ensured they wouldn't be attacked. His current movements didn't matter, but his words did. "It matters more than you think," she murmured to herself before following the man as he motioned for her to get out.

It was that weighted silence that overtook the two again as they climbed the couple of stairs and rode the single elevator to reach the First Lady airship. Whoever had flown the ship to dock must have already left by some other means than the gondola. Not a soul was in sight which was perfectly good for Booker. With no one to stop them from taking the airship, he had free reign to hijack it for their use. Of course, when it came to the controls, he hesitated. All he had to do was input the coordinates for New York and he'd soon be free of his debt, but the girl wanted to head back to her prison to destroy some Siphon that she claimed was inhibiting her powers. He couldn't claim to understand her tear powers with what little she had shown him, but at the same time, he had a gut feeling that they were dangerous. Trying to cross her may not be the best move, and flying over Monument Island wouldn't bring a world full of trouble as long as they were discreet.

"Elizabeth," he started, causing her to direct her attention at him. "I'll fly us over that angel statue, but after that, we're heading straight for New York."

A sad smile spread across her lips despite her attempts to keep it hidden. Why she felt that way was a mystery to Booker but the girl acquiesced. "Okay, Booker."

With that plan settled, the detective set the First Lady on its course, keeping his eyes open for any signs of trouble. Elizabeth moved from his line of sight, and for a moment he thought she went to sit down. Instead, he heard a large crash followed by her grunting. "The hell, Eliza—" He turned his head to see her trying to smash apart the strange, Comstock-esque statue that had stared at them when they had entered the airship. Irritation flickered through his veins. "What are you doing?"

Elizabeth didn't grace him with a response but continued to hack away at the statue. Booker almost made a move to stop her when she rose up triumphantly seconds later, a small metal instrument in her hands. Seeing his perplexed face, she held it up. "This is going to control Songbird, and he's going to destroy the Siphon. It's the only way I'll be free of it."

Honestly, Booker hadn't believed her the first time round but had only agreed for the most part to get her to follow him to the airship. "Elizabeth, look, I really don't want to pretend I understand what you're talking abou—"A large sound nearly split his eardrums. It echoed everywhere for a few seconds before growing quiet. "Dammit, what the hell was that?" His eyes moved to check to make sure Elizabeth was alright, but the look on her face was full of fear. "Eliza—"

"Booker!" she shouted, pointing over his shoulder.

The man turned around just in time to see another airship rise beside theirs, imposing in its size. He quickly focused on trying to get them away by changing their course direction. Booker had barely started pulling the levers when a giant lurch sent him sprawling. His head connected with the side of the panel, eliciting an explicit from his lips as his vision swam. Attempting to pull himself into a standing position again, he heard Elizabeth shouting ferociously.

"Stop! Get off of me! Booker, look out!"

Enough sense told him to duck, but in his state, he couldn't avoid the second blow that landed against his back. Crashing onto his knees, he let out a shaky gasp of pain, trying to focus. His hand fumbled for his pistol but a swift kick to his side ended any resistance he was mustering and left him coughing and spluttering against the floor. He tried to see what was happening, his vision swimming in and out. He heard more footsteps in the cabin, Elizabeth's struggles continuing. "Let her go…" he tried to growl out, his hands searching for a means of pushing him back up.

It was at that moment a particular voice began to speak, his words echoing through the loudspeakers adorning the neighboring ship. "You have lost, DeWitt. Did you not think I wouldn't foresee your attempts to take my lamb away from me? You cannot run from your sins. Your path ends here, False Shepherd, in your blood."

Elizabeth's shouts turned into cries of 'no' and 'don't' as Booker attempted to piece together what was happening. He finally lifted himself into a sitting position before the sound of a gun being cocked stopped him. Turning his head, he could see the man standing a few feet away from him, a pistol pointed at his head. Behind him, Elizabeth was struggling to free herself from the grip of two policemen, her eyes wide and wild, fear plainly written.

For all of Booker's experience in close scrapes, he knew he wasn't getting out of this one except through some divine providence he didn't even believe in. He had let down his guard, and because of it, he was paying the price. In terms of survival, it looked like he wouldn't get to draw at all.

The other man grinned, happy to be ending the life of the supposed False Shepherd. Too bad the joke was on all of them because he wasn't the False Shepherd. Not the one they alleged him to be anyway. Just as the man's finger started to push down on the trigger, Booker saw Elizabeth suddenly focus very intently on him.

"Booker!" she shouted. He saw her twist herself out of one man's grip with great effort, her eyes never leaving their focus on him. She began to move her hands as though she were pulling something apart, a hissing sound of something opening occurring beneath him. Booker had a moment of realization of what was happening before he felt himself falling, the last view of Elizabeth looking at him with profound sadness being swallowed in a haze of white.


End file.
